


The Ballad of Brother Spock

by mattygroves



Category: Star Trek
Genre: AU-Medieval, AU-Robin Hood but not really, Kidnapping, M/M, Merry Men - Freeform, the dangers of reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattygroves/pseuds/mattygroves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He awoke to a pounding headache and a view of the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen. They belonged to a young man who must have been around Spock’s own age, wearing a leather jerkin over leggings. Blue-eyes pulled back with a grin on his face.</p><p>“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he drawled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Brother Spock

Brother Spock barely had time to register the sudden silence in the forest before his attacker was upon him. He had been meditating on the Eucharist as he walked, and believed himself near to a deeper understanding of the substance of the bread and wine in holy relation to the blessed body and blood of the Lord Christ, when he was interrupted by a double fisted blow to his back that knocked the wind out of him. Being quite put out by this loss to theology, he fought back with vehemence, landing a few blows himself before a strike to his head knocked him unconscious.

He awoke to a pounding headache and a view of the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen. They belonged to a young man who must have been around Spock’s own age, wearing a leather jerkin over leggings. Blue-eyes pulled back with a grin on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he drawled. “You’re not like other monks, are you?”

When Spock did not answer, he continued.

“Sulu’s pretty angry about the headache you gave him,” he nodded toward a man from the East who was sitting on a nearby log with a bloody cloth to his head and a glare directed at Spock.

“I believe,” Spock said, his voice rusty, “The correct phrase in this situation is ‘turnabout is fair play.’”

For a moment blue-eyes stared at him and Spock was certain he would receive another blow to his head for insolence. Then the young man laughed—a hearty contagious laugh. Spock had to train his own mouth to retain its studied indifference.

“James Kirk,” blue-eyes held out his hand before remembering that Spock had been tied to the tree at his back. Kirk pulled the hand back a little sheepishly. “You’ve met Sulu—finest swordsman on both sides of the Euphrates. And that’s Bones fussing with the salves and whatnot. Uhura there packs a mean punch, so stay on her good side. And little Chekov here came praying all the way from the Crimea, but we soon cured him of that. And these,” he waved a hand carelessly around him, “Are my merry men. And woman. Seriously, don’t mess with her.”

Spock looked at Kirk for a long moment. “If this is robbery,” he said, “You are out of luck. I carry nothing of value.”

“Of course not,” Kirk replied, biting into an apple with a loud crunch. “What sad idiot would bother robbing a monk? This is a kidnapping.”

***

Despite dark looks from Sulu, it soon became clear to Spock that Kirk and his band did not mean to harm him—at least, not yet. Though he was still guarded by Uhura, he was soon untied and Chekov brought him a bowl of meat and vegetable stew.

“I do not eat animal flesh,” Spock said, almost apologetically. Chekov stared at him disbelief, but Uhura said, “It’s alright Pavel, find him some roots or something to gnaw on.”

Chekov came back awhile later, shaking his head, but the vegetables he had cooked for Spock were not bad. The little Russian must have a stash of spices; Spock had not tasted food like this since his father’s house. He found himself enjoying the fragrant parsnips, turnips, and potatoes—was that wild garlic?—even though a voice in his head told him enjoyment of the material world was vanity, vanity. His stomach had a hard time agreeing and he ate with relish.

“Thank you,” he said to Chekov’s expectant look when he had finished. “It was very good.”

The Russian beamed and hummed, giving a slight nod before abruptly taking his dish and striding back to the other side of the camp where there was a small cooking fire and a mess of pots. A few potatoes spilled out of a sack that had been tossed near the fire carelessly.

“No animal flesh, huh?” Uhura said. “What about the whole ‘take and eat’ thing?”

“You know your Scriptures,” Spock said.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I know a lot of things,” she said with a challenging smile and a toss of her long ponytail.

***

Kirk returned with a few of his men just after dusk. Spock had only been vaguely aware that he had left sometime before the tincture Bones administered took effect against the throbbing in his head. As Kirk broke through the trees into the clearing, though, Spock was keenly aware that a feeling of absence had been lifted.

The cooking fire had been stoked against the evening chill and Spock was seated near it with Uhura and Bones, who had mostly grumbled at Spock while tending his wounds. Spock was beginning to wonder if the man was capable of speaking in complete sentences.

“I hope you’re not taking this too personally,” Kirk said, sitting next to Spock. “We’re just the middle men here. Seems you’re a pretty important guy.”

“I am a simple monk,” Spock said. “Though I feel I should warn you, if your employers are expecting a ransom from my father, they will be disappointed. I have not spoken to my father in many years. He did not approve of me following in my older brother’s vocation instead of staying to run the estate.”

“These guys have a way of getting what they want,” Kirk said with a grimace.

“If you mean to kill me, it would be expedient to—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Nobody’s talking about killing. This is a simple kidnapping. We might send a finger or two—”

Spock betrayed his training by stiffening involuntarily.

“Relax, we’ll just cut a few off a plague victim if we need ‘em. Let me see your hand, though. Gotta make sure we get a good match.”

Before Spock could protest, Kirk had possession of his hand, splaying it over his own palm. Spock suppressed a shudder as the callused fingertips of Kirk’s hand brushed gently down the underside of his fingers. He risked a glance at Kirk out of the corner of eye and was caught. Kirk smirked slightly, the firelight flickering against his eyes, indigo in the darkness.

“You’re not a very good monk, are you?” he said in a whisper that seemed to come from deep in his throat.

***

Spock was given a bedroll near the fire, sandwiched between Sulu and Uhura. He didn’t think he would sleep under the circumstances, but he drifted off almost immediately, trying to remember the words to the Pater Noster and not at all thinking about Kirk’s callused fingers.

He awoke just before dawn, as was his custom, but before he could stir he heard a twig snap and he was pulled roughly from his bed by the cowl of his robe. A knife was at his throat before the world began to pull into focus. Sulu and Uhura were on their feet in an instant, weapons drawn. Kirk was standing on the opposite side of the fire, his hands resting on his hips, but the fierce look in his eyes betrayed his casual attitude.

Spock found himself staring down a man even taller than himself, well muscled with deeply tanned skin and shoulder length black hair. “Lord Khan,” Kirk was saying in an even tone, “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Khan said, with a twisted smile. “I’m taking the prisoner into my own custody and I will deal with his father directly. You’ll be paid for your part, Kirk, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, well, as long as I get my money,” Kirk said. Perhaps Spock was imagining the nearly imperceptible nod from Kirk, because he was bound again, and a sack was thrown over his head. Nobody fought to stop Kahn and his twenty or so men as they marched Spock out of the clearing.

***

Spock woke with a dull headache in a dark cell. His hands were chained to the wall above him, and he must have been there for some time because his fingers were past sensation, beyond on a tingling pain when he attempted movement. His stomach was empty to the point of nausea. He had not eaten since Chekov’s vegetables the night before, and given the darkness of his cell and his limited view of the outside world through the small grated window near the ceiling, night had fallen again. He let his head fall to his chest, hoping sleep would alleviate his physical discomfort.

After some time, he heard soft footsteps falling past his window. A moment later, he heard a thump, then another, just past his cell door, then a few whispering voices. It almost sounded like—

“You come here often?” Kirk said, standing in the doorway triumphantly.

“Are you kidnapping me again?” Spock asked wearily.

“Of course not, this is a rescue,” and he knelt down to unshackle Spock’s hands, while Spock tried his best not to think about Kirk’s legs straddling his own, the scent of Kirk’s neck so near his face.

His hands were loosened and he rubbed his wrists gratefully. When Kirk didn’t move away, Spock looked up to meet his gaze and was greeted instead by Kirk’s lips on his, gentle yet insistent.

“Sorry,” he broke off after a moment, “Just didn’t know when I’d get another chance. Now, let’s get out of here before Khan wakes up and realizes he’s naked and tied to his bed, the kinky bastard.”

Spock didn’t move immediately, the world was still fuzzy. It was probably due to the fact that he had not been given any water on the long, hot march through the forest, and had nothing to do with the phantom feeling of Kirk still pressed to his lips.

“You coming?” Kirk asked, extending his hand. Spock took it.

***

“You’ll be safer here,” Kirk said, when they reached the edge of the forest near Spock’s monastery. “Even Khan won’t be willing to risk the wrath of Rome for a measly ransom.”

They had been travelling for days, keeping to the shadows of the deep woods, guarded by Kirk’s small retinue of his most trusted companions.

“Oh, and,“ Kirk continued with a grin, “No need to thank me for saving your life.”

“Considering that it was your actions which endangered my life in the first place, no thanks will be forthcoming.”

“I’ll miss our little chats, Brother Spock,” Kirk said with a laugh.

“As will I,” Spock replied, surprising himself, “James Kirk.”

“Please,” Kirk held out his hand, “Call me Jim.”

“Jim,” Spock said, tasting it on his tongue, keeping his hand in Kirk’s a moment longer to feel the swipe of his thumb.

“Are you done flirting yet, fearless commander?” Bones growled. “These religious sites give me the creeps.”

Kirk’s ears turned pink, but he only grinned at Bones, letting go of Spock’s hand at last. Spock gave them all a brief nod before striding across the clearing to his monastery, to solitude and the life of the mind. He willed himself not to look back, even while he still felt Kirk’s eyes upon him. Allowing himself a glance as he reached the orchard gate, he saw that they had melted back into the woods, almost as if they had never been there at all.

EPILOGUE

Spock surveyed his surroundings grimly. It was better than the last cell he had inhabited, that much was certain. He had a small cot in the corner, a few books, and light streamed though the slightly larger grated window. His hands were not shackled to the wall, either. He lay down on his cot, determined to meditate until they brought his supper. As the sun dipped below the city walls and his cell dimmed, he stared at the stone ceiling, uncertain as to whether he had managed a moment’s peace in the last several hours.

He heard the tell tale jingle of keys, but could not bring himself to look over.

“Somebody order a rescue?”

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice soft with wonder.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Jim grinned. “What are you in for anyway? Murder? Larceny? Reckless use of a quill?”

“I received a life sentence for reading Aristotle,” Spock tried not to sound petulant.

Jim’s scowl left no doubt as to what he thought about that. “You ready to get out here? I’ve skipped out on at least a dozen life sentences so far, it’s a breeze once you get the hang of it.”

“And where would I go?”

“With me,” Jim said, defiantly raising his chin, “Anywhere you want to go.”

Spock had only to weigh the decision a moment. True, he had been told his feelings were sinful, but he was already going to hell for reading a banned book; why not engage in a little sodomy to supplement his excommunication? Spock glanced around the cell, lighting on a single slim volume—On the Love of God, by Sybok of Roncevaux—and taking Jim’s outstretched hand, walked out of prison into the warm summer night. Looking up, he could see the stars were just coming out, and the tightness in his chest that seemed to have been there his whole life, loosened ever so slightly and fell away like a dead, brittle leaf.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom, (though I've been obsessed with the original series since I was 12 and watching daytime reruns!) so I'd love to read your thoughts in the comments :) Kudos are always appreciated, too! I hope you enjoyed reading this!


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